The Devil's Child
by ParanoiaPoliticianDiva77
Summary: 1833 A newlywed french woman living in persia is raped by a monstrously deformed beggarman leaving her carrying his child. A deformed child that she hates. A deformed child named Erik. Basically a phic of Eriks childhood, based on Kay, Stageshow, Movie
1. Chapter One

In Persia lived a French couple, the husband working for the sultan as the French ambassador. Madeline and Frederick live a life of haughty luxury. Frederick was a strong good-looking man with clear skin and glossy blonde hair. He was a wonderful singer and musician and they would often sing together. Madeline was the opposite of Frederick, long thick hair falling down her back, and with soft curls weaved throughout it she was a vision, with creamy porcelain skin and sparkling green eyes.

They were friends, though they did not love each other. It had been an arranged marriage, a marriage for society both of them being upper class and wealthy they suited each other's needs, neither of them looking or caring for love.

But they did not love each other so Madeline felt no guilt when she'd spend an afternoon in bed with Frederick's colleague or the handsome stable boy. She was a housewife, bored and waiting for her husband to return home and they could go out to parties and meetings. She felt no concern about whether she got pregnant or not, until it happened.

She had not thought it through when she decided to take a shortcut through the dark alleyways of the foreign city. She had been out for a morning stroll around the town and was bored so she cut through a dark alleyway.

She saw diseased chickens in coops, most of them missing more than half their feathers and she shuddered when she saw the hungry beggar children. She was a shallow vain woman and screamed when they came to her, their palms out. She shooed them away and then cut though a dank passageway, hoping it was the way out.

She found fresh air and the road to her home. But a grimy hand placed itself on her shoulder and she screamed as she turned to see a living corpse a hold of her.

His eyes rolled and the right half of his face was terribly deformed, pockmarked and red. She shrieked but he covered her mouth as her eyes widened.

This man had hardly any hair, though he only looked eighteen years old, her own age. He grinned at her, a mouth completely devoid of teeth. A great black hole served as the nose that had never grown and his skin on his left side was like yellow flaking parchment, pulled and stretched over his face, like a living skull.

He forced her back into the dark passageway and then to the ground and laughed as he raped her, once then once again.

She lay shaking and crying as she gaped at his face. His expression changed from triumphant to anger and he yelled in frustration.

"I get it! You think I'm some madman! Because of this! This damned deformity!" he shouted in fury pointing to his deformed face and she whimpered. He shook his head.

"Please…"she said as she cried and he pulled her to his feet and pushed her out of the alleyway back into the sunlight.

She cried as she walked home, trying to make sense of the man. What was it that he called his face? A deformity? Did he mean he was born with it? What a monstrous gift to be given, for life. He didn't seem like an Arab and he spoke perfect English.

She tried to forget about that day, she pushed it from her mind and decided to be more careful with her shortcuts next time. She then continued on with her life.

The next month she was paralysed in fear, crying at what she had just realised. She had not bedded Frederick for months now and the past month she had been scared of having another affair after what had happened in the alleyway. That could only point to one man causing her illness every morning and her course being two weeks late.

She was with child.

She sent for a doctor and he confirmed it and was confused when she cried at the news.

When Frederick came home that day she sat him down and he asked what was the matter, she breathed slowly as she clutched her stomach in fear, knowing he would rage when she told him.

"I'm with child" the words spilled out and he looked at her funnily.

"How long?" he asked, confused and she gulped.

"One month so far" she said uneasily and his face whitened.

"We haven't…but…" he said slowly and she nodded.

"But it was not of my choice, I tried to fight him off but…" she began to protest but he slapped her face and her emerald earrings glittered in panic as they swung from her pierced lobes.

"Don't you think I don't know? Nadir, my colleague, came to me the other day and asked how have we been and I replied that we were fine and he chuckled and said some slide comment that I must be the only one my wife wasn't putting out for! You've had affair after affair! Don't you give me some bullshit story of rape and violation!" he shouted, picking up a vase and throwing it at the wall.

"I'm sorry!" she screamed but he grabbed her and pinned her against the wall, her sparkling green eyes filled with unveiled fear and she quivered at his angry touch.

"Sorry? Well guess what Madeline? So am I" he hissed and slapped her again. She fell to the floor and grabbed hold of the mantle piece, trying to get up but he kicked her shins and she fell. He kicked her stomach and she cried out in pain.

"No! The baby!" she screamed as tears poured down her cheeks.

"What some little bastard wont survive to see the light of day? You're more of a whore than I thought if you get knocked up then want to keep it!" he hissed threateningly into her ear and stormed out of the room, leaving Madeline to sob uncontrollably in a heap on the ground, clutching the small bump in her stomach with fear.

"Please let him live, please," she prayed silently "please don't kill my only child. Please, I fear Frederick is sterile, that he cannot give me a child. After two years of steady marriage he hasn't managed to provide me with a child. Please this is my only chance"

But for this Madeline was lucky and she thanked god every day when she realised how much her belly had swollen. She could feel the child kicking inside and this filled her with such joy though she knew Frederick would never love him.

Frederick was no longer her friend, with his pride wounded as his friends joked that his wife had to have an affair to get a child. He was now only cold and frosty to the lonely woman that married him. Madeline was once frivolous and vain, living her life in luxury, not giving a thought to the things that meant something. Now without her husband inviting her to accompany him to parties and dinners she sat at home in bed, fat and unwanted, the loneliest woman in Persia.

The day her baby was born was one she would never forget. Her water broke at one am and seven hours of contractions followed, her pain intermingled with the fear sprouted from the horror stories the midwives told of dead babies and miscarriages as they sat around, waiting.

She screamed and cried as she pushed the baby out of her and finally felt done and exhausted. She closed her eyes to the sounds of her child wailing but opened them suddenly to the youngest midwife screaming madly.

The baby was deformed, half of his face red and pockmarked and blistered, sparse hair only covering one side of his head. His right ear was just a lump of skin and cartilage and the right side of his nose spread and joined funnily to his face, as if it had melted and stretched the wrong way.

His whole left side of his face looked completely normal and healthy but his right side looked as if he had been burnt or corroded by acid. The only feature that remained the same for both sides were his blue eyes, the same as any baby's.

Madeline's eyes opened wide and she screamed and cried, shaking her head, her mind filling with dread and hatred at the monstrous baby now being placed gently into her arms.

"No! No!" she cried as the baby was placed in her arms.

Frederick came in to his wife's screaming and turned white as he saw the deformed baby in her arms and backed away slowly.

"Not only are you an adulteress but you can't give me a healthy child!" he said fearfully and backed out of the room as the midwives comforted the weeping Madeline.

"It looks as if its only surface, it's not hurting him or unhealthy. There was obviously something wrong. Tell me-early in the pregnancy you didn't fall onto your stomach did you?" one of the women asked her seriously as the baby suckled at Madeline's bosom.

"I might've" Madeline said faintly as she remembered that day when Frederick kicked her stomach as she told him of her pregnancy. She now stared with utter hatred at the ugly baby in her arms.

The thing was quiet and content in its mother's arms now but all Madeline wanted was for him to be taken away.

"That might've been it-we'll never know. What shall you call him?" the second midwife asked and Madeline hesitated.

She had planned to call him Charles, Charles Frederick Destler. But he didn't look like a Charles.

"Erik, Erik Charles Destler" and the midwives left the room and she glared at the baby, hatred building for the small child that had caused such hatred from her husband and rejection from her haughty friends. She glowered as her green eyes twinkled with fury.

"And may he regret ever being born"


	2. Chapter Two

From then on Madeline showed nothing but disdain for the child, forcing him to wear a black leather mask that covered only the right side of his face. She did this, as she couldn't stand to see his face, the thing that filled her with such fear and dread, reminding her every day of her infidelity.

He grew older and she saw him growing to be a handsome six-year-old boy, if you only looked at him from his left side, with the same dark hair and sparkling green eyes of his mother. He was a perfect balance between the hideous man who had fathered him and Madeline's exquisite beauty. When she saw his left side and how lovely and handsome he could've looked she almost cried, feeling as if she failed as a mother.

Erik asked every night if she would kiss him goodnight and she merely slammed the bedroom door in his face. She could not love him, not after the way Frederick had looked at her when he was born. If she were to show any affection to Erik her husband would surely punish her.

Frederick had grown more violent since Erik's birth six years earlier. He had taken to drinking and was out every night. If it weren't at some party with his mistress it would be a trip to the Persian brothels and bordellos, seeking fun when there was none to be had at home.

He would arrive home, filled with the drink and either ecstatically happy, giggling as he would try to grab a feel of one of the younger maids. Or he would be raging mad and come straight upstairs and beat Madeline until she was screaming for him to stop.

One night he had her to the floor, drunk as a mule and swore as he began to kick his young weary wife and she cried in pain, begging for him to stop when the door opened.

"Maman? Maman? Are you okay? Maman!" came little Erik's voice as his head came around the door and saw her, tears pouring down her cheeks with scratches on her face and neck. Her dress was ripped at the hem and Frederick turned to him.

"Get out Erik!" he said, in a quieter angrier voice and Madeline saw her son tremble in fear at the man who often belted him.

"Maman" he said firmly as he clung to the door.

"Out!" Frederick shouted and smacked Erik across the face. Erik fell to the floor and began to cry in fear, knowing what would come next as Frederick raised his arm threateningly.

"No! Don't hurt my son you goddamn bastard!" Madeline cried out as she pulled herself from the floor and threw her tired body at Frederick. "Run!" she said hurriedly to Erik and he ran from the room back to his own, jumping into his small bed and throwing off his uncomfortable mask.

Madeline kicked, slapped and screamed as Frederick picked her up and hurled her onto the bed they had shared for years now. He began to unbuckle his pants as she lay there and her eyes opened wide.

"No!" but her voice was muffled as he placed his hand over her mouth and she clenched her eyes shut until it was over. He sat back in the bed and fell asleep a moment later and Madeline clutched to her pillow and wept until she was drawn into a dreamless sleep.

She didn't talk to Frederick after that. They had not made love since Erik and she had refused it on several occasions. She had never thought that this drunken pig would ever violate her in such a way.

She couldn't save herself though. She was bound to him till death as a wife and partner and she could not flee.

But she could save her son.

A month later a Romanian gypsy carnival travelled through town and stopped for a week to perform and rest.

In the middle of the night she snuck out of their bed, Frederick trapped in a deep slumber; drool running from his mouth as he snored loudly.

She threw on her emerald coloured velvet cloak and woke Erik quietly. She held her finger to her mouth as he gazed at her sleepily.

"Shhhhh" she whispered and dressed him in his black trousers, white shirt, black jacket and cloak. She placed his white half mask on his face and he protested but she shook her head.

Shivering she took him down to the street and she walked as she held her son in her arms, never having such a quiet moment with her son before. She felt the warmth of his little body against hers as she entered the grassy parkland where the gypsies were camped.

She ignored the fire twirlers and contortionists, Arabian dancers and fortune-tellers who were packing up the tents and wagons ready to leave the next morning. She reached an ancient woman sitting at a table counting her money. Her skin was as wrinkled as a crocodiles back and she had dark hair tied into a bun, with glints of grey throughout it.

"Hello m'dear would you like a tarot card reading? Your fortune told? Some aphrodisiacs to make your lover melt? Spells of every shape and kind?" the old hag cackled and Madeline shook her head.

"No, I was wondering if any women here wanted a son? He's a good boy though he has his faults? I don't know where to turn." She said quietly. She had wanted to get rid of Erik all her life but it was at this moment that she felt as if she couldn't let him go.

"Ahhh…well let me see him," the gypsy lady said and Madeline obliged as she set Erik down on the ground. The gypsy lady looked at him with interest as he yawned and scratched at his mask.

"Maman?" Erik said inquisitively looking around at Madeline. Madeline shook her head at him.

"The mask? What is that for?" the gypsy lady asked curiously and Madeline hesitated.

"He was born with a defect, his skin and ear are horribly deformed on that side of his face," she said finally and the gypsy cackled.

"May I?" she asked as she reached for the mask.

"Go ahead, I've warned you though" Madeline said wearily and the old crone removed the mask from his face and broke into a hideous smile at the sight of his face. Madeline squirmed as the hag examined him in interest.

"He is good, take this," she said abruptly, handing the mask back to Madeline who stared at her curiously "he shall not need it anymore"

"You'll take him?" she asked and the gypsy nodded.

"Of course, he is a special child" she said and Madeline looked at him anxiously.

"Can I please have a moment to say goodbye?"

The gypsy nodded and got to her feet and walked off, shouting something in Romanian to a couple of the men who were juggling instead of helping. Madeline turned to Erik and picked him up and held him close to her face.

"You'll be living with these people now, it's not safe for you at home and I know you can find a better way to live life. You're a survivor, a brave boy who will grow to be a great courageous man. A good man. Please this is hard; I feel such a guilt you will never be able to imagine. Erik, never forget me, I'm your mother and I know I should've treated you better, goodbye" she said and placed him back on the ground.

She pulled a few coins from her purse and gave them to him and he pocketed them, understanding fully.

The crone had returned and took Erik by his hand and began to lead him away but Madeline stopped and thought of the thing Erik had begged her for every night since he had learnt to talk.

She ran forward and knelt before him, she kissed him on the forehead and ran back out of the park, her green cloak billowing behind her.

That was the last time Erik ever saw his mother.


	3. Chapter Three

However Erik was not to be treated as his mother wished. A gypsy man named Javert took him in let him sleep in his room. He got Erik feeding the chickens and horses for them then washing their clothes as the gypsies lazed around or entertained townspeople as they moved from town to town.

But soon Javert thought of a different idea for Erik that was more useful than any domestic work.

They had an empty cage that used to hold a tiger til it died a year beforehand and he lead Erik to it. It had been filled with new straw and Javert told him to get in it.

Javert locked the cage gate behind him and grabbed Erik's hands through the bars and bound them with rope. Erik screamed in fury as he was tied to the bars and Javert entered the cage. He placed a new mask on Erik, a mere sack with holes for his eyes and mouth. Erik kicked and screamed as he did this but eventually tired out and gave in.

He sat in the cage quietly, hours later, wondering why he deserved such a terrible fate. Hated by his own mother, belted by his own father and now caged and bound by strangers, people who frightened him and told him what to do.

Soon Javert had created a new attraction of the gypsies travelling carnival; the devils child. He would invite people to come see the spawn of Satan and lead them to the cage where Erik would sit sadly with the bag on his head. Javert would often come in and remove the itching scrap of material and whip Erik, who cried and screamed as he grabbed for his mask.

This went on for two years as they travelled through Europe. From Persia they went next to Iraq, Syria and turkey. Through Bulgaria, Hungary, Germany then finally one day, months after Erik's tenth birthday in 1833, the clan of gypsies stopped in Paris.

Erik had become so different over the years he spent as the devil's child. He was quieter and sadder, his only friend being a small rag doll he made himself, a monkey playing the cymbals.

He now bore marks on his back that would never heal or disappear, pain that would always remind him of Javert's cruel whip.

On the third night in Paris he lay in his cage quietly, going through his plan in his head, knowing he would have to escape or at least try.

His mind had grown and he was smarter beyond his years though none of the gypsies realised it. He had no company normally until Javert brought another crowd in to stare and laugh at his mangled face. But most of the time he was alone and would sit and think. He would think about anything and everything and one day came up with a plan to escape.

It was a normal night, the gypsy girls danced and men breathed fire as the Parisian men and women would gasp and laugh at the wonders from the east. He heard a crowd approaching, giggling girls, older than him gasping and giggling in awe at the fortune-tellers and bearded ladies as they drew near to his tent. Javert ran to the entrance and said dramatically.

"Come! Come inside and see the devils child…" and he led the young girls in to join the crowd of men and women that surrounded his cage.

Erik looked up to the faces, seeing many people through his eye slits in his mask and saw through all the laughing faces a sad one. A young girl, thin and plain looking gazing at him with pity, an expression he had never come across before.

Javert entered the cage and Erik trembled in fear as the cruel man stamped his rag doll from his hands and flung his small body to the harsh straw lined floor of the cage. His dark eyes glinted as Erik screamed in pain at the cruel whip slicing his raw bare back open, the flies darting around the raw flesh. The crowd laughed hysterically at this brutal entertainment and cried for more.

Suddenly Javert ripped Erik's mask from his face and Erik screwed up his eyes as tears poured down his face as pounding waves of merciless laughter hit his pleading ears. He screamed and grabbed for the mask and shoved it back over his face. The throng grew increasingly uninterested and slowly left the tent, looking for the next thing that would catch their fancy.

Gentlemen from the crowd threw coins into the cage as they walked away and Erik saw Javert picking at them hungrily, a glinting greed in his eyes as he counted how much Erik's pain had earnt him tonight. Erik quietly undid his bindings from the cage bars and wrapped them tightly around both hands.

He walked slowly and silently up behind Javert and forced the rope around his neck, hearing him struggle for breath he leaned to his ear.

"This is for those years where you beat me, abused me and molested me. You took my childhood from me and now I'm taking your life" he hissed and heard the last choke from the gypsy man and let go of the rope as the heavy corpse fell to the floor, his vacant eyes wide open in shock.

Erik stood and dropped the rope and picked his rag doll from the floor. He turned to face the entrance and saw that same plain girl with the pity in her face gaping at him.

"Murderer!" he heard a gypsy man call in his rolling Romanian accent. Erik realised with startled fear that the man had seen everything. He clambered out of the cage and the girl grabbed his hand and they ran like rats fleeing a sinking ship.

They ran down the cobblestone streets of Paris and she pushed him into the cellars of the opera house. She went through the back way and met him in the chapel and led him down the passageways to the catacombs underneath the famous theatre.

"I'm Antoinette Giry, you?" she asked panting as she attempted to get her breath back

"I'm Erik" he replied coolly and she looked at him.

"Just Erik?" she asked, curious and she stared s he pulled off his mask, revealing the hideous deformity on his right side melting to into a chiselled handsome left side with sparkling green eyes. He looked at her darkly, the sparkle in his eyes gone.

"Just Erik"


	4. Chapter Four

Erik and Antoinette walked swiftly down the passageways, past gargoyle like statues and through stone corridors. Erik wiped the grime from his face as he stared around in amazement, never having seen such an amazing sight.

They reached a complex labyrinth of lakes and Antoinette's eyes widened.

"I must've taken a wrong turn, I've never ever come across these before, we must be further beneath the opera house than I thought" She said, confused as her eyes rapidly searched the endless caves.

"Is that where we are?" he asked innocently and she turned to him.

"Who are you Erik? Why am I helping you? You killed a man," she asked her eyes widening as she realised what she had done.

"I don't know why you're helping me" he said slowly as he scratched his head then suddenly something caught his gaze "there's a boat over there"

"Where?" she spun around to peer across the lakes then she saw it, a small rowboat poking out slightly from behind a statue.

"I'll get it," he said and before she could protest he dove into the murky water. She stood, her brown eyes wide open, searching the water for him. Suddenly she heard a gasp and he was climbing into the boat, gasping for breath. He picked the oars up and rowed slowly over to her.

"Thankyou for everything" he said and went to row away.

"Wait! What will you do for food? Clothing?" she said urgently, grabbing the edge of the boat.

"For the while could you please get me some shirts and trousers and food, and meet me here tomorrow night at ten?" he ordered and she nodded.

"Okay" she said and walked away, feeling ridiculous at taking orders from a child.

He continued to row in awe through the beauty of these caves. There were statues of angels and demons, gargoyles and hero's scattered throughout these catacombs. He came across a few caves that had dry land but none really suited him.

Suddenly he came across a longer tunnel with two large statues of rippled male torsos at the entrance. He rowed in and found a dry land living area, with depth and sufficient nooks and crannies.

I'll have this one, he thought to himself as he stepped onto the cave floor. He dragged the boat to lean against the grainy dirt floor. There was a table and two chairs around one corner and a moth eaten grimy bed.

He lay on the bed, having not slept on anything but straw for years now and fell into a happy sleep, knowing that when he woke he would not have to fear his ruthless father or the cruel gypsies with their unforgiving whips.

But the last rattling breath of Javert, the cries of 'Murderer and his fearful running haunted his dreams. He tossed and turned throughout the night, screaming as Frederick whipped him and he murdered Madeline, all his memories mixing into one, where Antoinette turned against him and ripped his mask from his face and his parents laughed hysterically at the horror it revealed. A strange dream of a man just like him, attacking Madeline, her hopeless cries for help echoing his thoughts as he screamed.

"Maman!" his eyes shot open and he shook his head. She had been an awful mother, though he didn't remember much about her now. She had been immensely beautiful but cold and cruel towards him, her only son.

He suspected Frederick had never been his father though he guessed he would never know. But his terrifying dream of Madeline being attacked by a young man who looked like him still struck fear within him, as if he knew it was real.

He knelt over and cried, though he hadn't done in years except for the tears of pain that came every time he was whipped. He cried for his lost childhood, feeling older than his small ten years. He cried for his mother, cruel until that last fleeting moment, a glimpse of what might have been. He cried for his lost innocence and a dysfunctional life fuelled by his ghastly face.

He fell asleep crying, his eyes sore with salty wet tears and awoke to his face sticky and the daylight shining through the caves.

He walked slowly to the lake and scooped some water into his hands. He looked at it and saw that it was clean enough and sloshed his face and hair in it, trying to remove the remaining grime from four years without a single bath.

Blinking away the droplets of water he climbed into the boat and pushed off into the disorder of caves and lakes.

He approached another stone entrance like the one from the night before and stepped onto the cold damp stone cautiously. He walked up the stone tunnels until he reached a narrow corridor lit by torches on the walls. He came to a dead end and went to turn but he suddenly heard a shriek of girlish laughter.

"Ferdinand! You're not supposed to be here!" giggled a girl from the end of the corridor and he leant his ear against the wall. The wall wasn't made of stone like the others-it was smooth timbre, like the back of a mirror.

"Why not? It's not as if my stagehand quarters would allow us enough privacy" chuckled a mans voice and she giggled again.

"I know but if anyone were to find out-oh my parents would have a coronary! Me an upper class prima Donna sleeping with the stagehand? It's unheard of…now come a little closer," she said huskily and he laughed.

"I'm running late Kristina, we'll meet here at lunch," he said and Erik heard the door click behind him as Ferdinand left the room.

He then heard the girl, Marie, sigh and arrange her skirts which ruffled as she sang her scales, clear tones going higher and higher. She cleared her throat and muttered 'Good enough' and he heard the door close behind her, her footsteps disappearing.

He leant harder on the panel and heard a snap as it swung open and he fell onto soft pink carpet.

He stood up and looked around the fiercely decorated room, adorned with flowers and paintings. He turned to where he had come and saw that it had been the back of a mirror that he had been leaning on.

A full length gilded mirror, reflecting his whole self, an image he had not seen properly for many years.

He had grown taller and his dark thick hair was now shoulder length. His face was the same; monstrous on one side then perfect on the other. He wasn't wearing a shirt, he hadn't since winter and he was beginning to grow broader in the shoulders; before he knew it he would be a teenager, a man.

He took in the beauty of the room though it was not to his taste. While it was pink he preferred black and red, stronger darker colours, more passionate, more to his refined taste. He saw a pair of scissors on the table, most likely for cutting the prima donnas nails. He sat down in front of the dresser and began to cut his hair, long enough to tuck behind his ears but short enough so he looked like a boy. He took her comb and began to slowly work through the knots. Soon his once unkempt mane of hair was respectable looking.

"I need a shirt" he said quietly to himself and looked around the dressing room. This wasn't the room to find a mans shirt he determined so he went to the door. Carefully he opened the door a crack and saw opposite it was an empty hallway and another door with the words _'Paolo De Belci'_ on it in intricate cursive letters. He watched carefully as a large man came out, reading through his music and singing to himself.

The man looked at the program and sighed.

"Uhh…I keep telling them Paolo doesn't have a U in it but they never listen, damned managers never listening to the men, it's all about those damned sopranos-all it want is correct spelling" he trailed off as he walked away. Erik crept slowly to the room and opened the door quietly. No one was inside and he ran inside.

This room was blue and white, slightly better for Erik as he went to the wardrobe and turned the key that was left in the lock.

Many men's shirts were revealed, greens and blacks and whites, costumes from every possible scenario; Caesar and Kings, commoners and Spanish. Erik rummaged through it but all of them were like dresses on his small ten year olds body.

Erik walked to the dresser and saw hair cream in a container and couldn't help himself. He scooped a dollop and worked it through his hair, finishing by slicking back his hair completely, exposing his widow's peak clearly, his hair now black and shiny.

He went to leave the room but saw what looked like a moneybag on the dresser and greedily went to it. It contained gold coins, francs, and he took half knowing he would come back for the other half when he needed it.

He crept along the hallway and saw the stage ahead. Too cowardly to go any further he returned to the Prima Donnas dressing room and entered the caves once again, closing the mirror behind him.

He walked down the dimly lit corridor then had an idea. He removed one of the torches from the wall and guided his way using that. He came to the end of the narrow passageway and found another that he hadn't noticed beforehand.

This passage was longer and had more twists and turns. It dripped more and the walls were damp and mossy. The place smelt dank but Erik didn't mind even when he felt the rats running past his bare feet, just happy to be safe from the gypsies.

He came to another dead end but knew this time that it was another disguise. He felt the wall and saw part of it, two square feet at shoulder height was the same timbre from before. He pushed on it slightly and it swung open into an empty hallway. He climbed through the hole and his filthy feet landed on the smooth wooden floorboards. He turned and placed his torch inside the slimly corridor as he closed the secret trapdoor and saw that it was in fact a painting. It was an oil canvas of a ballet, many girls in tulle skirts raised onto the tips of their toes.

He admired the ballet and turned back to the corridor and saw an open door a few feet down. He heard voices and quickly hid behind a vase on a stand. He peeked his head around and gazed at two men carrying a rolled up carpet from the room, complaining as they went.

As they disappeared from view he edged over to the door and read the same cursive letters from before.

_'Props and Costumes room'_

He sighed and entered, closing the door behind him. He gazed around; stands covered in Venetian masks, perfectly groomed wigs upon plaster heads, racks of beaded and detailed garments, endless amounts of hats and glasses. He walked through, looking at the feast of clothing placed before him, delighted at his discovery of this Aladdin's cave of wonders.

He came to a rack of younger boys clothes and he rummaged through until he found a pair of black trousers and white shirt. He tried to find a plain jacket but the only thing he could find in his size was a black tailcoat. He found socks and black shoes but felt he needed something extra.

He went back to the stands of masks and found something to his liking; a plain white leather mask that went from the forehead to the mouth. He grinned, knowing this was right and went to the door.

He tried the door handle but it wouldn't budge so he knelt down and peered through the crack between the door and doorframe. It had locked from the inside. He groaned in aggravation and turned to the walls; there must be another way out.

He walked through the aisles of props and saw something that could be of his aid; a silver kitchen knife, small but sharp. He picked up a moth eaten felt hat and ran the knife through it; perfect as it split the hat in half.

He came to the back wall finally and ran his fingers over it, feeling for cracks that could be another trapdoor. He leant on a stone and heard a clicking noise as a section of the wall moved mechanically backwards. His emerald eyes gleamed with pride and he walked into the passageway, pulling the lever inside almost indifferently as the wall replaced itself to its normal position.

It was pitch black in this corridor and he felt a glimmer of fear as he put his hands up to feel along the wall. He walked along, feeling his way, calling out occasionally to hear the echo and tell if there was much left of the corridor.

Suddenly he slid, his foot dropping as he tumbled down a set of stairs, clutching his findings to him until he felt his body stop rolling. Disorientated he stood up, still gripping onto his new clothes. He saw a dim light and found a crack in the wall.

Another door! His eyes brightened and twinkled light a cats in the darkness as he pushed on the wall and it opened into a dormitory room.

He climbed through and looked around; he had come through a less exuberant painting, covering another hole in the wall, the room was messy, tutus lying around on the small iron beds and ballet shoes underfoot.

He heard a noise and quickly dived under one of the beds and watched as three girls in tulle skirts and their hair plastered back into sleek buns walked in, laughing and chattering. He saw Antoinette amongst the group and two others; a girl with pitch-black hair with sparkling blue eyes and a blonde girl with pale hazel eyes. They stood laughing as one pulled a flask from under a mattress and they all took a swig from it.

As they went to leave he whispered softly "Annie" and she stopped and looked around, the other two too immersed in their conversation to notice.

Her eyes searched the room and he hissed her name again. Her eyes widened as she saw him hiding beneath the bed. She turned to her two friends.

"Andrea, Florence you two go ahead-I just have to fix something" she said and they nodded as they left her to chatter away. Antoinette closed the door and ran over to him.

"What are you doing here?" she exclaimed, her dark eyes wide open as she helped him from beneath the bed.

"I got lost" he said naively and placed his newfound clothes on the bed. She gazed at them in suspicion.

"Where'd you get those? I though I was bringing you some clothes tonight" she asked as she lifted up the tailcoat, looking at it apprehensively.

"I thought I'd save you the trouble Annie, where can I wash?" he asked nonchalantly and she looked at him funnily.

"Annie? Where'd that come from?"

"Antoinette is too formal, Anne is too plain-you look like an Annie" he explained as he turned to the girl "now where can I go to wash?"

"Ummm, we have a tub over here" she said walking over to the chamber pots and pulled out a silver tub. They slowly filled it with water and she turned her back as he stripped off and washed.

"So how old are you Annie?" he asked and she paused.

"I'll be sixteen in two weeks, what about you?" she asked, thinking whatever age he was he didn't look it.

"I'm ten years old and a few months" he said, the splashing of the water mixing with the harmonies of his voice.

Ten? He seemed smart enough to be her age, just in the way he acted and talked, as if he were older and more mature than herself.

"How much schooling have you had?" she asked, thinking maybe he was just very smart.

"Schooling?"

"You know-education, with a governess or tutor" she explained and he shook his head, flicking droplets of water from his hair.

"Never heard of it, just picked up everything I know from anywhere I go," he said, stepping out of the tub and picking up a thin towel to dry himself.

"Where have you been?" she asked curiously, surprised at this miraculous boy with no education though he seemed smarter beyond his years.

"Ummm…first I grew up in Persia with my family until I was six, sold to gypsies when I was six by my mother. After that we travelled through Iraq, Syria, Turkey,

Bulgaria, Hungary, and Germany. We came to Paris a week ago and now I'm here. Why? Where have you been?" he rattled off the names of the many countries he had visited and her chin dropped.

"I've lived in Paris all my life" she stuttered and he pulled on his new black pants.

"One place for sixteen years? I can't imagine that after all the travelling I've done. Pass me my shirt will you?" he asked and she passed the white pintucked shirt to him behind her.

"Seven countries in ten years? I couldn't imagine it" she replied and he shook his head in frustration as he struggled with the buttons.

"Ridiculous buttons…" he muttered and she turned around in irritation.

"Here let me help," she said, walking over to him and helped do up the rest of the small white buttons.

"Thankyou" he said and she shook her head at him. She then looked around the room, wondering if he had stolen anything else.

"How'd you get in here?" she asked curiously and he threw on his black tailcoat, and walked to the painting.

"Here" he said simply as he opened the hinged painting and she gasped when she saw the passageway beyond.

"Wow" she exclaimed and he pulled on his shoes and socks. He reached for a candle on the table and lit it with the matches with it. He slid the white leather mask into his coat pocket and climbed into the trapdoor.

"Wait!" she said, grabbing his arm and he looked at her exasperatedly.

"What?" he asked and she stopped.

"May I visit you?" she asked and at once knew it sounded stupid asking a ten year old in formal wear if she could visit his underground home.

"Of course, that's what friends do don't they?" he said simply and flashed her a smile as he closed the trapdoor behind him. He gazed around at the corridors now and began to walk up the spiralling staircase, his candle leading the way.

A friend.

He'd never had one of those before.


	5. Chapter five

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Over the next three years Anne Poirier realised there was more to Erik than a little ugly child with a sad past and unlikely future. After his initial arrival in the cellars of the Opera Populaire she began to help him fashion a home out of the cave he slept in the first night.

They stole bedding and furniture from the dormitories of various ballerinas and chorus members. Members of the opera company began to complain of a thief stealing their possessions and Anne had a cunning idea.

"It's the Opera Ghost!" She exclaimed with false panic one day as the lead soprano, Kristina La Thenadier, announcing that her money had been stolen right from her locked dressing room.

Everyone turned to look at sixteen-year-old Anne, the rising star in the ballet and Kristina laughed.

"Opera Ghost? What in the name of god are you talking about?" She laughed and Anne shook her head seriously.

"I have seen things, a ghost attired in dress clothes haunting the opera house. He walks through walls and stalks those who scoff him. I doubt anyone here has the key to your room?" Anne said seriously and all had gone quiet as they listened to the girls chilling stories.

"No, I don't dare let the key from out of my sight" Kristina said slowly and Anne nodded.

"The Opera Ghost does not need a key to enter a locked room. He does not even need a door. I would be wary of where you leave your money Kristina," She said disturbingly and Paolo the lead tenor began to laugh.

"Kristina you cannot possibly believe such things?" He scoffed and everyone began to laugh with him, as Anne turned red. But then a stagehand spoke up.

"I've seen him. He is not very tall but is extraordinarily thin and wears a mask of white leather. I saw him when repairing a backdrop the other day. Anne's description is right" Jean said warily and everyone stopped laughing. Jean was chief sceneshifter and was not prone to telling lies or stories of make-believe.

"You must always be on your guard, never anger this opera ghost for he is very dangerous," Anne concluded and everyone nodded, believing her story.

Anne had been stealing food for Erik from the kitchens and soon complained to him about it.

"Erik you're going to have to find another way to get food-I can't keep stealing for you, I'll be caught and they'll fire me" She complained and he nodded, a glint in his sparkling green eyes.

"Of course Anne, I have a marvellous idea" He said sneakily and she grew nervous, not liking his mischievous tone.

A week after the rumour was spread the whole Opera Company became on guard for this Opera Ghost as the managers, Messieurs Debienne and Poligny, received some startling and strange notes written in queer laboured handwriting, as if written by a child who has not yet learned to join their letters. The note was written in red ink.

_Messieurs,_

_For some time now I have been resident at your opera house and applaud your soprano, Mademoiselle Kristina La Thenadier's, great triumph in Faust the other evening. She made a splendid Margarita, as I'm sure you know._

_But as I am restricted from entering the streets of our beautiful city I am unable to earn myself a living; Messieurs I am your opera ghost._

_I will be clear and make sure you know that I am a being not to be toyed with nor tricked. For I cannot be tricked. To show you the height of my danger that I pose upon your precious opera house please proceed to the second cellars below ground to find Jean Bukater, Chief scene shifters dead body. _

_This was neither my fault nor his, I went to frighten him and perhaps knock him unconscious for the damages he has caused me in the passing weeks. He fell and my noose was caught. Sincerely sorry but I am not unwilling to perform a similar accident next time some one upsets my delicate temper._

_I am demanding two things._

_...For the moment._

_1. For a salary of considerable value to pay for my expenses of food, clothing, and other necessities._

_2. For Box five to be left empty for my personal use._

_I remain your humble and obedient servant,_

_O.G_

The managers laughed at this note, thinking it to be a hoax or joke of some kind and dismissed it. But minutes later after opening the note there was a scream of horror and a stagehand burst into their office, telling them that Jean Bukaters's corpse was found, hanged in the second cellar.

In a flurry Messieurs Debienne and Poligny made their way down to the second cellar of the opera house to find Jean Bukater's corpse lying on the ground, no rope to be seen.

This was of particular concern; where had the rope gone?

The managers became well aware now of the dangers of the opera ghost and though officially they declared it 'natural suicide' they were sure that it most certainly was not anywhere near natural.

They left box five empty and on the night that the Opera Populaire was presenting the opera _Romeo and Juliet_ they left a note on the main chair of the box for the mysterious Opera Ghost.

_Dear O.G_

_We understand the dangers you do pose upon our opera house and in compliance with your requests have left Box Five empty for your own personal use._

_For the matter of the salary however, we wonder how much is necessary and how we may leave it for you? We shall not want to leave it in an unoccupied box for you or anyone to pick up. It is not very safe at all._

_Please leave a note explaining how we might manage this arrangement._

_Messieurs Debienne et Poligny_

_Managers of the Opera Populaire._

To this note they received this short reply, written in the same handwriting and red ink as before.

_Messieurs,_

_Very happy with box._

_Romeo and Juliet was indeed another splendid performance._

_Quite enjoyable._

_As for matters concerning my salary you may find the matter easily fixed if you look it up in the memorandum book, number five in the conditions of clause 98 may help you greatly._

_Also in clause 134 there are also some other conditions concerning our current arrangement, also on the last page, clause 230 just for you to be sure._

_Your Humble and Obedient Servant,_

_O.G_

Messieurs Debienne and Poligny were quite perplexed by these instructions, having read the memorandum book over many times when first having come into management. There had never been anything concerning Opera Ghosts or certain salaries for such Ghosts. They proceeded to their memorandum book in their office and turned to clause 98.

Indeed Clause 98 always had had four conditions set out in it outlining certain rules and regulations of the managers that could have them demoted if they broke such rules.

Now there were five, a curious thing for such logical managers. The fifth condition was written in the same style as the notes with the same red ink.

_Or if the manager, in any month, delay for more than a fortnight the payment of the allowance which he shall make to the Opera Ghost, an allowance twenty thousand francs a month, say two hundred and forty thousand francs a year. This allowance shall be left locked in the Opera Ghosts private box on the first day of every month._

Debienne and Poligny looked at each other in confusion.

"Twenty thousand francs?" Monsieur Debienne said in alarm and Poligny shrugged and began to flick to the next place the ghost had specified.

"Here's Clause 134" He said and began to turn the pages until he found the familiar red ink and queer handwriting.

It was only a line or so that had been added, but it reinforced the previous notes from their opera ghost.

_Box Five on the Grand Tier shall be placed at the disposal of the Opera Ghost for every performance._

"Well we know this" Debienne sighed with frustration and began to flick to the last page with Clause 230. He scanned down the page until he reached the single line of red ink.

_Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur_

"What do you think he means by that? Another killing?" Poligny said in alarm and Debienne shook his head.

"Beyond our imaginations? I should _imagine_ something along the lines of killing a lot of people," He said thoughtfully and Poligny sighed in aggravation.

"Twenty thousand francs!" he said in anger and Debienne turned to him.

"We'll leave him it tonight for him to collect during the production of Profeta, we don't want to anger him again" He said in calm thoughts and Poligny erupted.

"Again! We did nothing last time and he kills our bloody stagehand!" He said in fury and Debienne shushed him.

"Just calm down, we can afford it at the moment anyway" Debienne said calmly and Poligny rolled his eyes.

"I suppose"

* * *

Reviews are splendid

really


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

"Erik please tell me you didn't kill Jean?" Anne shouted the day after the Chief Scene shifter had been found hanging between two backdrops. Right above the alternate entrance to Erik's home.

Erik stood in a stunned silence and began to laugh.

"Me? Kill a meaningless stagehand? Hah!" he laughed as he went about moving the carpet an inch across the cave.

"Then how did he die?" She asked accusingly, eyeing him with suspicion and he turned to her, a look of false innocence about the ten year old.

"Natural Suicide" He said simply and laughed and she picked up a rock and threw it hard at him. He whipped around and caught it in a flash.

"Don't anger me Annie," He said quietly and she felt a tingle of fear flow down her spine; she hated it when he talked like that, so quietly it was chilling.

She began to help him move a half moon table into place by the wall and he slowly started to hum a sweet tune she had never heard before. He started to sing softly and she stopped to listen.

"Masquerade,  
Paper faces on parade . . .  
Masquerade,  
Hide your face, so the world will never find you" 

She gaped at him and he looked at her in confusion and stopped singing.

"What?" he asked and she stared at him.

"Where'd you hear that song?" She asked simply and he shrugged.

"Don't know, think I made it up the other day when I was bored" He said casually as he straightened the table and she gaped at him.

"Do you know how to play the piano forte?" she asked and he shook his head.

"No but my mother had an organ that I used to sit at and make up tunes on when she wasn't home, it's one thing I miss," He said and Anne was surprised; he never spoke of life before the carnival.

Anne went back to her dormitories thinking about this; what he had been humming wasn't as simple nursery rhyme, he had hummed the melody then muttered something and began humming a harmony, rhythm, bass line, and ornamentation.

He wasn't an ordinary boy.

She began to search the higher cellars, the third and second, unsure of what exactly she was looking for.

But she found it.

An old abandoned pipe organ, covered in dust, heavy as can be in the third cellars.

She came to Erik and told him of it and they set about moving it. There was a back passageway that ran from the third cellars to his home. But the organ was too heavy for them to lift all that way.

There was a hoist that the sceneshifters used in cases where a prop was too heavy to lift safely and Erik stole it. Him and Anne together spent an afternoon taking the pipe organ down the dark passageways, with only a few candles they rested on the large instrument.

They finally placed it in his home and returned to hoist, much to the sceneshifters confusion; a hoist that liked to run away wasn't a good hoist at all.

From then on whenever Anne came down to spend time with Erik she heard beautiful music being played upon the organ, though he had never received a lesson in his life.

She now knew of his intellect, that he was smarter beyond his years and retrieved her old schooling textbooks from her parents home. She began to tutor him and soon realised her pitiful textbooks weren't advanced enough for him.

Anne went to the Paris library and borrowed out books on everything; Shakespeare and science, philosophy and architecture. Books on music and art, on the history of the opera Populaire, on the history of France. Books on geography and an atlas in which he showed her all the places he had been.

He erected a bookshelf that soon turned into a bookcase filled with the knowledge of the world. He looked at her in confusion when she told him she had to return the books that day.

"But I thought you gave them to me?" he asked in misunderstanding and she shook her head.

"No, I got them from a library-you borrow books for two weeks then you have to give them back so other people can read them" She told him but he refused to give them back.

"But I need them" he said and she shook her head.

"You can't steal from a library, it isn't right" She said and he ran to his desk and opened a drawer. He stuffed a heap of coins and notes into a small moneybag and pulled out a piece of parchment and began to write. He finished and handed both to her.

"There-one hundred francs" he said and she looked at the note in bewilderment.

_Messieurs,  
I am sorry but I am unable to return the books I borrowed (see list attached) but so you can buy more I give you one hundred francs. Please give any letters for me concerning this arrangement to Messieurs Debienne and Poligny.  
O.G_

"One hundred francs? All these books together might make up fifty," She said in amusement and he shook his head.

"Yes but now thanks to me they can buy more-I just like these ones" He said happily and she sighed and went to leave to deliver the note.

"Just remember-I'm not your delivery girl," She said and he waved for her to leave.

* * *

Anne continued to rise higher in the ballet and after another year passed she rose out of the lowly corps de ballet to a small solo role.

Meanwhile Erik grew higher in knowledge, talent and wealth. He was probably the only eleven-year-old in all of France living by himself making two hundred and forty thousand francs a year.

For Messieurs Debienne and Poligny continued to leave Box Five empty and leave his salary in it. They had many notes come to them, complaining of the state of Box Five, that the chandelier needed dusting, that they needed a new principle male dancer. All of these notes written in red ink and signed by a humble and obedient servant, O.G.

Erik had grown quite a lot and entered puberty quickly, his voice breaking the day before his twelfth birthday.

Anytime anything strange went on in the opera company, someone fell down the foyer staircase or grew ill they blamed it upon the opera ghost. Superstition about this man had grown to hysteria and Anne regretted telling the impressionable corps de ballet of him.

By the time Erik was twelve and a half he had written his first ballet number, an orchestrated pas de deux. He left the score for this with notes on the choreography and production for the managers in Box Five after watching a production of _Barber Of Seville_.

The next week it was performed by the Opera Ballet and much to Erik's disappointment the leads danced it with no heart, no feeling whatsoever.

He sent angry notes to the managers and Principle dancers, lecturing them on what the ballets about and everything that was wrong. As a result the Principle male dancer left the company, flustered and upset about Erik's lack of tact.

But the music he had composed had deserved more; it was a beautiful piece that sounded as if it were composed by an old learned musician who has had years of composing such works.

Not a twelve-year-old boy who had never had a music lesson in his life.

The managers announced the composer had chosen to remain anonymous under the initials O.G.

At once all of the Opera Company knew whom they had gotten the music off and pronounced it the music of the devil.

Anne thought to herself that this was almost true; it was the music of the Devils Child.

* * *


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

By the time Erik had reached age thirteen he had written many pieces of music, ranging from Arias to duets to large ensemble numbers. Pieces for ballet and opera, overtures and symphony's. He grew restless and bought more books of fiction, trying to find inspiration between the pages of these classical works.

Finally in a book of old tales of Europe he found what he was looking for.

_The Legend of Don Juan Triumphant,_ the tale of the greatest lover in many eons.

He took a small section of Don Juan's life and based his opera around it; _The Conquest of the Peasant Aminta_.

Aminta was a beautiful angelic girl who sold flowers to those of the higher classes, such as Don Juan. One day when Don Juan was preparing for the conquest of Lady Catalina he bought her a single red rosebud from Aminta. The moment he saw Aminta he changed; he fell in love. He forgot of his plans to seduce Lady Catalina and could only think of the beautiful girl Aminta.

Throughout Seville people know Don Juan as a great lover and to have made over a thousand sexual conquests. He has made many enemies by seducing married women and they have threatened to kill those he loves. In fear he cannot show he loves Aminta for the sake of her life and makes plans for Aminta to become his next conquest. He decides that the next morning as they lay calmly he may ask her to marry him and if she replies with a yes they will run away.

He devises a plan where he dresses as his valet, Passarino and Passarino dresses as his master. Masked as Passarino he invites Aminta over for tea while his 'master' is out. When Passarino returns as Don Juan it is planned that the Don shall suggest that they hide in his room from the angry master and once there he shall seduce her.

But the moment Aminta arrives for this dinner Don Juan cannot help himself but proclaim his love to her and they fall in love. They go to bed straight away and spend the night in bliss. The next morning Don Juan awakes to find that while they were asleep Aminta's throat was slit and she lies dead in his arms.

He enters his foyer in a panic and Passarino lies dead on the floor, a note pinned to his dead body. It says that this is in revenge for those who have suffered from his evil deeds.

In despair Don Juan vows to never love again and plans to seduce the young noble lady Donna Ana. But her father, the Commander, discovers him.

Don Juan kills the Commander in a dual and escapes. Donna Ana and her fiancé Don Ottavio attempt to hunt down Don Juan, but he is too wily to be caught.

Later, Don Juan passes by the tomb of the dead Commander. A voice comes from the statue on the tomb, warning Don Juan that he will be punished for his wicked deeds. The unrepentant Don Juan jokingly invites the statue to have dinner with him. However, the joke is on Don Juan when the haunted statue comes to life and arrives at Don Juan's house at the promised time.

The statue puts out his hand and offers to take Don Juan to a different banquet. Don Juan, fearless to the last, takes the statue's hand, but finds himself caught in an unbreakable grip that fills him with freezing cold. A fiery pit opens and the statue drags Don Juan off to Hell, Don Juan resigned to his sad fate.

The last thing cried out by Don Juan is 'Aminta my heart belongs to thee'

Erik found this story perfect for his masterpiece and slowly began to write it, the overture taking him over a year to complete.

Anne was now nineteen and rising higher in the ballet. She spent more and more time in the fifth cellar with her best friend; the devils child himself.

As he composed she choreographed, seeing ballets in her mind as he heard music notes. He created a dollhouse of the opera house theatre, with small figurines of dancers and singers. With this he figured out the blocking of a particular aria and Anne figured out her patterning and sequences in her unique choreography.

This dollhouse was a piece of art in itself; it was finely crafted with particular attention towards the details, the small pieces of floorboards making up the stage itself and the embroidered red velvet curtains. Erik constructed a small beaded chandelier, small enough to be placed in the palm of his hand. It used the tiniest pieces of glass for the extravagant Swiss crystal beading and bent wire painted gold for the frame. He hung this chandelier as it did in the theatre, above the audience stalls where it could jingle slightly if a soprano hit a particularly high note.

Erik often looked at this figurine of the famous Swarovski chandelier and thought of how disastrous, how catastrophic, how amusing it would be to cut this chandelier down upon the unsuspecting audience.

Also resident in this dollhouse were the tiny detailed figurines of each member of the cast, from the young corps de ballets to the lead soprano. There were little costumes created every time a new opera was performed to match reality with Erik's mere childish fantasy; to run the opera house.

But music and the arts were not the only subjects of Erik's interest; Architecture, design, history, literature, magic and ventriloquism.

Dear reader, this last preoccupation of Erik's I have mentioned to you was a particular talent of his; he could speak without moving his lips or opening his mouth, he could throw his voice from one end of the theatre to the other, he could speak in four languages and had perfect dialect for each of these but most interesting of all these talents was his ability to change his voice from a man's to a woman's.

One morning before rehearsal began Anne came down to the lakes on the boat, to visit Erik and share her pastry with him that she stole from the kitchens. But as she pulled the lever to open the gate to his home she heard a beautiful woman's voice coming from the water.

She fell into a trance as she listened to this delicately beautiful soprano voice singing a mournful song in another language. She blacked out and next moment she was coughing up water, lying on her side in Erik's home as Erik sighed with relief.

"Annie! Please try to call out that it's you when you come to visit!" He said in distress as she sat up. She was soaking wet, the tulle of her gossamer skirt dripping with the water of the lake.

"What happened? Where's the girl who was singing?" she asked in shock as she fell into a chair and Erik handed her a blanket.

"I was testing my new trap for unsuspecting fools who dare enter the opera ghosts domain, didn't realise it was you" He said breathlessly and she looked at him in confusion as he handed her a mug of hot tea.

"What trap?" she asked and he sighed and pulled out a river reed.

"This-I can stay underwater for however long I like with this. I put it in my mouth and stick the top out of the water slightly and I can breathe, talk or even sing" He said, happy with how well his new trick worked. Anne's face grew stormy.

"It was you that was singing?" she asked angrily and he nodded happily, almost surprised at his own genius…almost.

"Yes Antoinette, you should know by now that I have a marvellous vocal range," he said as he fixed himself his own mug of tea and sat down next to her.

"So what did you do? Distract me by singing then drug me?" She asked in fascination and he shook his head, trying not to laugh.

"No, I just sang for a while, your eyes went all glassy and a ridiculous look entered your face, smiling like a fool! Yes! And then as I continued to sing you just stepped off your boat in a rather blasé fashion and went under! Oh it worked so well! I shall call my lake the lake of the siren!" he giggled wickedly and she gaped at him.

"You just tried to kill me and you laugh," she said incredulously and he cackled harder.

"Oh Annie you take things so personally! Of course when I realised it was you I stopped and rescued you! I mean, I'm not stupid," he said seriously and she shook her head.

"No you aren't but you sure are a peculiar one" she said as she began to dry off.

While Erik thought his face to be hideous and hid it from all view with his white leather mask he had found in the props room, though he had cut it in half to give it that _personal_ touch, Anne thought nothing of it. She constantly was trying to convince him to remove the mask, to stop hiding himself from the world, from her. But he refused and when she had pulled it from his face he fell into such a rage that she promised out of fear never to remove it again.

Erik's home was quite complete, it had all the fineries of upper class living for the day; exotic carpets and rugs, draperies in black and red, fine furniture both stolen and bought, a pipe organ on a platform with stairs and thousands of golden candelabras dotting around the lair, lighting the underground home.

But one thing Erik was never happy with was his bed; it was a bed he had stolen from the dormitories of the corps de ballet and did not suit him at all. He needed something dramatic and horrifying, and definitely more comfortable. He was after all, the infamous Opera Ghost.

He deserved proper bedding.

So in hope of finding something more to his _refined_ taste he began to search the labyrinth of lakes and caves of the fifth cellars.

And abandoned on the side of the lakes, all the way on the other side of the opera house, was a mahogany coffin, still in perfect condition. He clumsily pushed it into his boat and returned to his home, an idea formulating.

He stole bedding from the lead sopranos room, mattress and pillow and stole linen and blankets from the lead tenors rooms. He soon painted the coffin midnight black and varnished it.

The end product was a shining black coffin with deep red velvet blankets and soft goose feather pillows of the highest quality. He presented it to Anne who screamed at the sight of a coffin.

"Again!" she shouted in horror, backing away as fourteen-year-old Erik was set off in a fit of giggles and she glanced at him anxiously.

"Annie I haven't killed anybody…yet" he said mischievously and he took her soft hand in his gloved ones as he led her to the coffin. He opened the lid and she turned white when she saw the bedding.

"You're not going to sleep in that?" she asked faintly and he cackled in a high-pitched voice, taking pleasure in Anne's revulsion.

"Why not?" he asked, in a mock offended voice and she looked at him in disgust.

"It's a coffin! It's where they put dead people! If your serious then you must be more sadistic and psychotic than I thought!" she had shrieked and he laughed again.

"Come on Annie, I've looked dead for years anyway" he had jested pointing to his face and she shook her head.

"You're a menace to society Erik, you're lucky I put you down here where no one could see how god damn disturbing you are" she had sighed shaking her head as she left and he screeched with laughter.


End file.
